Chapter Text
Lucifer hadn’t planned on staying the night. He also hadn’t planned on healing Alastor, but here he was, awkwardly hovering over an unconscious Radio Demon. He was sprawled out on the bed, the soft blue light of the swamp falling over his freshly healed chest and slack face, ever-present smile small but smirking. Even in a pain induced coma, he still somehow managed to look smug. Asshole.
If someone had asked Lucifer a few weeks ago to heal the obnoxious deer, he would have laughed in their face. They couldn’t stand one another—were more or less rivals. And Alastor choosing to remain at the hotel for some new form of ‘entertainment’ was more than a bit questionable. Top that all off with how he used Charlie and how he continued to try and rile Lucifer up by playing daddy? Why the fuck would he help him?
Then again, if someone had told Lucifer a few weeks ago that Alastor would come to him and ask for help, he likely would have passed out from laughing. The oh so high and mighty Radio Demon asking for assistance? As if.
But Alastor had been oddly amiable of late, or at least as friendly as he was probably capable of being. He had stopped barging into Lucifer’s room, he insulted his duck designs a bit less and, until earlier this week, hadn’t destroyed a single one since his return to the hotel. He had certainly made up for it, though, their body count now alarmingly high.
Even his shadow had more or less been behaving itself, Lucifer’s clothing making it through the day without any of his coffee being rudely dumped onto it. In fact, the demon had even started making him coffee on the rare occasion he saw Lucifer was actually up and out of his room early in the morning (Lucifer had a tendency to take his time starting the day). All of this should have clued him in, but he was so focused on functioning at a basic level that it didn’t even register. He should have realized it was all an act, that Alastor was going to want something. That the sinner was trying to fucking manipulate him.
Were he less oblivious, they might have been able to avoid the duck massacre that took place five miserable days ago.
Lucifer really, really needed to start paying more attention.
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The day had started off quiet, Lucifer serenely fiddling with something that wasn’t a duck for once. One of the residents—he just called him lab coat, on account of his lab coat being the only thing he could remember about the guy—had given him some odd contraption, with no explanation as to what it was. He was running a fingernail along one of the metal seams when there was suddenly a knock on his door.
Lucifer froze.
Two confident raps against the wood. A pause. Then three more in rapid succession.
Great. It was the fucking bellhop.
The special knock was new, considering he had always waltzed right in whenever he felt like being a menace. Lately, he typically made himself known like any other normal person and patiently waited for Lucifer to come to the door. He was still frustratingly antagonistic whenever he visited, but his words were no longer dripping with malice.
Lucifer had ignored the nonverbal request for entry before, but whenever he did, Alastor would simply come in any way, his shadow sliding under the door. Sighing, he carefully places the perplexing metal block thing onto his desk, grumbling as he walks away to wrench open the door and scowl at that always smiling face. “What?”
Alastor tilted his head to the side. Then further. And further… He continued to twist his neck until he stared at Lucifer from upside down, grin widening. With each crack, Lucifer flinched. “I really fucking hate that, you know.”
“Ah ha! Have you considered that’s exactly why I do it, Your Majesty? You do always have such delightfully dramatic reactions to what are merely some harmless antics!”
Forget it. Lucifer made to close the door, swinging it fast to avoid any interference the sinner may attempt.
He was too slow, a red and black shoe halting the door’s progression. “Come now, sire, that is no way to treat a guest!”
Despite being a twig, Alastor was still surprisingly strong, and he bodily forced the door open wider, causing Lucifer to stumble backwards. A hand quickly shoots out, grasping him by the arm to prevent the fall.
“You really ought to be more careful, my dear! We wouldn’t want you hitting your silly little head now would we? Concussions aren’t exactly pleasant, and heaven knows you don’t need anything else shaken loose up there.”
Releasing his hold, Alastor kicks the door shut behind him before strolling over to the bed. He makes himself comfortable on the edge, stretching his legs out before him as if this room were his and not Lucifer’s. Lucifer trails after him, stopping a few inches away.
Alastor crosses his ankles and places his hands behind him, sliding them back until he was ever so slightly tilted in a way that left him looking up at Lucifer. He wore a placid smile, shoulders relaxed, perfectly casual in his immediate appearance. However, this close it was impossible to miss the tension in his eyes. They were tight around the edges and, if he didn’t know any better, he’d go so far as to say the sinner looked pained.
The demon opened his mouth to start speaking, but Lucifer cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Just skip to whatever it is that you’re here for.”
“What, I can’t just stop by for a friendly chat?”
“Friendly? Ha! Friendly is hardly a word I’d associate with you.”
“I think I have been, as of late! But fine.” Alastor immediately sits up ramrod straight, abandoning the casual demeanor so quickly he leaves Lucifer feeling a bit off-kilter. “I require your… cooperation.”
What the fuck? Lucifer must have made some sort exaggerated expression of surprise, because Alastor threw back his head and laughed. “I understand this is outside our norm, but I have a task that is simply taking far too long to resolve. You can do as I say, or you will be forced.”
Lucifer doesn’t respond. He definitely wasn’t going to help, but he’ll admit that he was intrigued. What could the Radio Demon, who operated solo and looked down with disdain on anyone receiving assistance, possibly want him to help with?
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously and folding his arms defensively across his chest, Lucifer scoffs. “The high and mighty Radio Demon asking for help? That’s a new one, must be preeettttty serious if you’re coming to me. Finally find a problem you can’t handle on your own?” he asks mockingly, reveling in the way Alastor’s eyes flickered black, antlers rapidly branching out with a loud crack.
He moves quickly, looming over Lucifer. “I am not,” he hisses, grabbing the front of the other man’s shirt. “Asking for help. I am telling you what to do. You do not have a choice in the matter.”
Lucifer snorts. “Yeaahhhhhh I don’t know about that buddy. You think I’m so stupid that I’d just agree to something without knowing what it is first?”
Alastor’s eyes flip back to red, and he raises both eyebrows dramatically, meaning as clear as if he’d said it out loud. Yes.
“As I said, the decision isn’t up to you.” He releases the King and steps back a few paces, antlers shrinking down ever so slightly. Still upset, then.
“So what is it that you think you’ll be forcing me to do? Because Red, I am way stronger than you.” He bares his teeth, mimicking Alastor’s wide grin. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to see you try, though.”
Alastor sighs and Lucifer can see his fists tighten. Ohhh, he did not want to be doing this. Lucifer couldn’t help but smirk, delighted to see Alastor angry and forced to swallow his pride. It must be serious.
Then, confusingly, Alastor plucks at his bowtie, pulling it loose so that it hangs open around his neck. Then his fingers went for the shirt buttons.
“Uh, hey. Bellhop? Could you maybe elaborate on what’s happening here?” He laughs nervously as the demon undoes the top buttons and continues, gradually revealing more tanned skin and fur.
“Host,” Alastor corrects. He was fastidiously keeping his eyes down, refusing to meet Lucifer’s until he reached about halfway down his chest. The shirt fell open further and…
Oh.
A wide, deep scar spanned his entire chest, glowing green stitches holding it together. Not that they were doing much good. They were inconsistent, blood visible where they pierced through his skin. The surrounding fur was matted, clearly suffering the repeated assault of blood and water.
A long silence stretched on between them, Alastor staring at Lucifer, Lucifer staring at his injury.
It’s the devil who finally breaks the silence.
“Well that sucks.”
Alastor hisses. “As shocking as it will be to hear, sire, yes, it does. Fix it. Now.” His tone was commanding. Confident.
The fallen angel chuckles, eyes jumping to Alastor’s face, whose expression was furious and yeah, most definitely pained. He stares at the wound again, then away, down to the ducks surrounding his feet as he considers what to do. He kicks one, and it rolls behind the sinner with a quack.
“I hate to break it to you bellhop, but what you’re doing here is asking for help.”
Alastor is suddenly in his personal space once more, shadows expanding and enveloping them as he presses closer. “I am not seeking help. I do not need you to heal this. It has simply grown rather bothersome, therefore I am telling you that you will heal it, whether you like it or not.” The sound of his voice was now heavily distorted and laced with harsh static, threatening and dangerous. To anyone that wasn’t Lucifer, that is.
He could only roll his eyes at the demon's theatrics. This guy was delusional.
He pauses for a moment, reviewing his options. He could hear him out, perhaps even help. It would certainly further place him in Charlie’s good graces. Buuuuut then again, this was the Radio Demon, who just the other day sabotaged his pancakes by swapping out the sugar for salt. He decides to be difficult. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
The sinner snarls, and his claws start to elongate as they come to a rest around his throat. Alastor tightens his grip with each step as he roughly walks him backwards, his voice a deep growl, until Lucifer’s back hits the wall. “Yes, you will. And if you refuse to do it, I will force you.”
He drags Lucifer up the wall until he matched his height, which had increased by several inches. Jagged teeth were on full display, bared and incredibly close to his face, breath hot on his skin. Damn. If it were anyone else, Lucifer just might have been into this. But as it was, this was fucking Alastor, throwing the most ridiculous tantrum because he wasn’t getting what he wanted.
And people said he was dramatic.
A breathless laugh escapes Lucifer. “Force me? How? Please, I would love to know what you would do to bend me to your will.” He condescendingly pats the hand tightening around his throat. “It’s okay deer, I’ll give you maybe like, a C for effort. If I weren’t the literal King of Hell, I might actually be a tiiiiny bit intimidated by this little hissy fit.”
Lucifer had been expecting Alastor to start raging—maybe even throw him—but he didn’t expect the bellhop to pull back. He cocked his head to the side and, grin widening, dropped into the shadows, disappearing.
While he couldn’t die, Lucifer unfortunately could feel pain, and it jolted up his spine as he hit the hard floor. Rude.
Rubbing his back, he stands and looks around for Alastor. There was no sign of him. If he was lucky, the guy had finally decided to leave.
As if aware of his thoughts, Alastor reappears at the top of the stairs in a swirl of inky black.
Damn. No such luck.
Grinning down at Lucifer he takes a step forward. Then another, fingertips gently brushing against the ducks that lined the side, every one of his movements calculated and predatory. “Shall I give you a demonstration?” He takes another step, green beginning to flicker around the claws currently curling around a duck that was styled similarly to an elephant.
Lucifer had gone through a phase at one point where he tried to create ducks based on other animals, relying on his absolutely terrible memory alone to style them correctly. That had yielded some… interesting results. Thankfully, that elephant had turned out relatively normal—he couldn’t imagine what verbal abuse he’d have to suffer if it was particularly ugly.
“Oh no. A duck.” Lucifer deadpans. Shrugging his shoulders, he sweeps an arm wide. “Bellhop, this room houses hundreds. Actually, maybe thousands? I don’t keep count. I’ll survive without it.” He frowns. How many did he have? What would be a practical way to count and catalog them?
Alastor’s smile widens further still as he pinches the duck between his fingers, its drawn-out, pitiful squeak startling Lucifer from his thoughts as it starts to burn with an eldritch green flame. And then Alastor brings it down to the pile of its yellow brethren, continuing his deliberate, leisurely descent, using that first one almost like a torch. He rolls it along the top, setting more on fire as he went. “Well, if you have so many, surely it won’t matter if I destroy a few more, hmm?”
Lucifer starts to feel panic bubble up in his chest. A few didn’t matter, but piles? That was too many. Did he remember each one? Of course not. Does he do anything with them? No, but they made his room feel safe. The ducks brought a specific type of comfort that he couldn’t find through any other means, the last remnants of a past dream he feared he was beginning to forget. Perhaps he had already.
Lucifer was fractured, likely far beyond repair. He had failed so many across the centuries—Charlie, Lilith, his friends, even the souls banished to Hell—and those failures had begun to stack, the pressure eventually cracking, then shattering, his will to dream and create. Both had defined so much of who he was, and now all that remained of those ambitions were what felt like a few microscopic shards. How could anything possibly be restored from so little?
Birds reminded him of his old home, of the creatures of heaven he had befriended and cherished. They were once a delightful part of himself that he’d shared with Charlie. He was clinging to the past with every duck. Even he recognized this, knew it probably wasn’t healthy—his current state, the depression, the mood swings all attested to that.
They were such small, useless things, and he wasn’t sure they even brought him joy anymore. But even so...
He was the only one who decided to create or destroy them. Sure, the majority of the ducks were representations of his failures that haunted his every waking moment, but it was still creation. A reminder that he could, no matter how broken he may be, or how absurd and childish the ducks were.
He feels his horns start to emerge, tail lashing out behind him. “Stop,” he commands, allowing his voice to take on a demonic edge. It resonates across the room, window panes rattling.
And of fucking course the Radio Demon only rolls his eyes.
“Well?” Alastor waves the burning toy in front of his face, taunting him. “You can’t even hope to convince me they don’t matter, Your Majesty. The apperance of your more demonic traits say otherwise. After all—“
He’s cut short as Lucifer’s wings burst from his back and he propels himself forward, slamming into the sinner and dragging him down onto the steps. Alastor only laughs.
“You cannot hurt me! You have nothing that you can use to stop me.” As if to prove a point, the small mountain of ducks above them bursts into flame as well, the air becoming heavy with the acrid smell of burning rubber.
Lucifer scrambles to his feet and, with one strong flap of his wings the fires go out, ducks scattering everywhere at the force of the wind. They’re both silent, the only sound the quacks of dozens of ducks scattering across the floor and down the steps. If it weren’t for the present circumstances, it may have been funny.
The fallen angel takes stock, surveying the damage Alastor had caused. The ducks that had lined the stairs were entirely destroyed, the wall scorched and marred with their melted remains. Some had survived the stack above them, the others blackened and charred. He reached down and picked up two that had fused together.
This… hurt. A lot, actually. Lucifer’s jaw tightens, and he tries to force his expression into something neutral in an attempt to present an air of indifference to the Radio Demon’s cruelty.
“Again, I have thousands—” he snaps his mouth shut as he feels his throat start to close up. Why? Why does this upset me? Lucifer couldn’t understand, could feel himself failing to maintain composure. His breath was also starting to pick up as he fought for control over his reactions. His vision was starting to blur, too, so he rapidly blinks his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
Alastor had stood at some point, and was looking at him with an odd expression on his face. His smile was a thin line, brow pinched together. “Stop that.”
Lucifer feels his eyes watering, hardly hearing him. Focus.
Breathe in… breathe out. Breathe in…
He couldn’t believe this was happening in front of the stupid fucking bellhop, and thinking about the ways he would utilize this moment in future fights was doing nothing to help. The panic started to burn, pressure in his chest rapidly increasing. He felt nauseous. He felt himself start to sway and—
He is vaguely aware of four claws none too gently grasping his chin, of his face being tilted upward until Alastor’s came into hazy view. “I would recommend thinking back to some of those lessons of Charlie’s, no? I believe we’ve seen enough panic attacks within the walls of this ridiculous hotel.”
With Alastor a step above him, he was even taller, and Lucifer could feel the strain in his neck and claws digging sharply into his skin. It was uncomfortable—and far from being any type of reassurance—but it was grounding, something easy to focus on while he repeated over and over to himself the steps necessary to fucking breathe.
Alastor remained still, and Lucifer felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily he was able to school his expression into one of cold indifference. He probably was unmoved.
Once his breathing began to even out, Alastor quickly retracted his hand, loudly clapping them together. “Now that we’re through that ordeal, what do you say? Are you feeling motivated?” His voice was bright and chipper as if they’d just wrapped up a pleasant conversation, as if he hadn’t just destroyed dozens of little pieces of the fallen angel.
Lucifer turns his back, unsteadily walking down the steps to sit on the edge of the bed. When he provides no response, Alastor disappears from his place on the stairs to reform before him. The demon pricks a single claw into the bottom of his chin to once more tip his head back up, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“I promise to never destroy any of your ducks ever again if you comply with my demand to heal this scar.”
He doesn’t move, just watches Lucifer as he struggles to comprehend the words. He turns his head away, wincing as the motion causes that red tipped claw to harshly drag across his skin.
Alastor holds the hand out towards Lucifer. “Well, my dear? Do we have a deal?”
Lucifer stares for a long time at his hand, a small frown on his face and shoulders hunched. When he finally looks up at Alastor he still doesn’t reply, but weakly takes the Radio Demon’s hand in his own.
Then, in a voice so defeated and so soft that even Alastor almost misses it:
“Deal.”